


Liebe ist kälter als der Tod #29-11-11

by Palytoxin



Series: Love & Pride [8]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Hurt, M/M, Wimbledon 2018, after QF, unbeta, wimbledon championship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15763806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palytoxin/pseuds/Palytoxin
Summary: He didn’t know what to he could do. It hurt in all kinds of ways to see him like this. But all he wanted to do was not allowed to, what he managed to do only made things worse. He felt chilled to the bone.*related to part 6





	Liebe ist kälter als der Tod #29-11-11

**Author's Note:**

> *title from: Movie-Liebe ist kälter als der Tod, 1969, Rainer Werner Maria Fassbinder
> 
>  
> 
> Please be free to comment～it's alway pleasure to know your thought or get kudos.  
> Thanks for reading~xoxo

He heard the fuss in the middle of the second set. Roger Federer lost to Kevin Anderson. People kept saying it again and again, like a thunderstorm howling around the central court. Suddenly, he lost his focus. The incident before the tournament started ghosting in his head. He missed couples of forehand and was broken easily that he even couldn’t understand what just happened in that game. He managed to broke back immediately. But the momentum had already tilted to Juan-Martin. He was a smart guy that there’s no way he wouldn’t catch this opportunity. He struggled to grab another break point, but it’s too difficult in facing an ace guy. He had no choice but to push it into the tiebreak. And again, he made a deadly double fault. It cost him a set. He spent one more set to settle down and find his form back. He was on the edge of the cliff, just one step further, he would fall down. What Roger said to him after his tough loss to Müller last year came to his mind. “Next year will be the tenth anniversary. We should repeat it again. But I will win this time.” He still remembered his playful tone. How could he lose? He shut his eyes tightly. An unexplainable pain was spreading inside him. He wouldn’t hand this to anyone easily if Roger couldn’t defend his crown. He fought a long way to come here. He wouldn’t surrender now. He got back on the horse, grabbing his weapon. No one could ever bother his way when he wanted to protect something desperately like this.

 

It’s only after he finished all the presses and post-match treatment then he could have his own time to think about it.

Roger lost the long game on Court No.1.

He knew Roger too well it’s not the time to talk to him now. Any attempts to give comfort would trigger backfires. A wounded lion couldn’t be petted like a kitten. He had learned it by himself too many times that he couldn’t bear the aftermath, nothing good would come for both of them. And he was already too old or too cowardly to give it a try anymore. He texted Roger. “ Call me whenever you want” was all he could manage.

  
He turned on his laptop, searching the highlight of Roger’s match. He repeated it a few times, judging Roger’s wellbeing by himself. They had some unspoken agreements. They don’t ask about other’s condition. There’s no way they could be honest to these kinds of questions as long as they’re rivals and he hated the feeling of prying, too.

Roger looked nothing wrong at the beginning of the match, good serve, elegant footwork, beautifully forehand. Everything was fine until the match point in the third set. It reminded him of the final of Halle. Roger was dragged into the decisive set. Roger wasn’t that kind of players who like to draw out the game. It had been quite long since the last time he had been pushed to the physical limitation. He noticed the desperation in those brown eyes. But why? He knew something was definitely wrong. He had tried to sort out. However it didn’t help even a little bit.

  
***

  
He didn’t walk cross Roger’s practice court by accident. He knew he was there. He really worried about him after Halle. It’s hardly anything he could do for Roger’s regrouping, but at least he could offer him a meal. Good food always helped a lot in his own condition. The boys were the additional treat. He fell in love with these two sweet babies on the first day they were introduced to him. It was a beautiful evening. They cooked and ate. Everything went well except that Roger unexpectedly cried in his kitchen. He was almost crushed under the bad memory of Roger’s tear flooding back.

  
He sagged against the door closed second before, running a hand through his damp hair a few time, composing himself. He didn’t know how he managed to say goodbye to Roger and his kids. The situation was totally a mess. He lowered his head, staring at his hands, still shaking. A sarcastic smile appearing on his face. You miserable, Rafael Nadal, panicked by tears like this. No, it’s not because of tears, he protested. Yeah, it’s because of HIS tears. He heard the voice in his head saying. He couldn’t deny. He was scared. He had seen Roger crying numerous times but every time his tears touched his skin, it still felt like burning, same as the first time, no matter how many years had passed.

  
He head went totally blank when he saw Roger weeping. A panic attack struck him all of sudden. His heartbeat raised up, his breathing got faster and heavier. Slow down, slow down, he reminded himself, trying to pace his breaths. He felt lost, the ground under his feet wobbling, like the gravity was abruptly gone. He wanted to grab something to stable himself but got nothing, his nails digging into his palm, leaving moon-shaped wounds, but he didn't notice at all. He couldn’t stop himself trembling. He couldn’t do anything but watch him crying.

It’s always some kinds of connection between father and sons. The boys were awakened by no one and running towards their dad. Roger embraced the kids immediately, whispering to them in a language he couldn’t understand, still tearing. The scene provoked a sharp pain through his body. It felt like an invisible wall separating them from him. You didn’t belong. You didn’t even speak the same language. The spell cast this afternoon was broken. No matter how they looked like a family, it was still not true.

He didn’t move, didn’t know he couldn’t or he wouldn’t until Lenny was calling his name and almost started crying. He teetered close, holding the sobbing man in his arms, stroking his hair gently with trembling fingers, saying every soothing word he could approach. He didn’t even know what he was saying.

His heart was hammering in his rib cage, he hoped Roger wouldn’t hear it. Every cell of his body was screaming. Run away! But when the tears started rolling down along his neck, he couldn’t. It hurt in all kinds of ways to see him like this. He didn’t know what to he could do. He wanted to kiss his forehead, telling him everything would be fine. He wanted to kiss his eyes, telling him how beautiful he was. He wanted to kiss his nose, telling him how amazing he was every time he stepped on court. He wanted to kiss his lips, telling him he never stopped caring for him. But all he wanted to do was not allowed to, what he managed to do only made things worse. He felt chilled to the bone.

He lost the sense of time, how long they had stayed like this until Roger excused himself to the bathroom, ten minutes or half an hour? The boys were frightened, clinging to him reluctantly, seeking comfort. He held them in his arms, talking to them softly, trying to reassure them. They’re confused.

  
“What’s wrong with daddy? Does he hurt?” Asked Leo.  
“Daddy is okay, he...” he trailed off. He didn’t know what happened either, but he tried.  
“He just too tired. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry...hmm?” He tightened his arms around the boys. They’re too small to understand the pressure of being adults. There’re too many things that were out of their control.

“Are you crying, Rafafa?” Lanny touched his cheeks with both hands. He wasn’t aware his face wet. He was stunned.

He couldn’t answer. He bit his inner cheeks to strangle his whine, too hard that he hurt himself. The blood tasted like his sea that he once sank himself deep deep into in that cold late summer night. He shut his eyes tightly, struggling to cope the greatest pain in his life, it’s to love, but love in vain.#

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> #rewritten from - Abraham Crowley  
> “A mighty pain to love it is,  
> And 't is a pain that pain to miss;  
> But of all pains, the greatest pain  
> It is to love, but love in vain.”


End file.
